


Only Care About What We Do

by hittooclosetohome, martial-quill (martial_quill), Rockersweetheart



Series: I Like This Future [1]
Category: Jessica Jones (TV)
Genre: (they talk about what Kilgrave did; it's not graphic), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Jess Doesn't Get Arrested, Luke Doesn't Leave, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, No Season One Break-Up, Sharing a Bed, They Talk Their Shit Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-05
Updated: 2018-11-05
Packaged: 2019-08-18 19:58:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16523642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hittooclosetohome/pseuds/hittooclosetohome, https://archiveofourown.org/users/martial_quill/pseuds/martial-quill, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rockersweetheart/pseuds/Rockersweetheart
Summary: Jess looks at him, at the empty space beside him. Silently asking if she can climb into her own bed. He may not want her anywhere near him, after everything that’s happened.Not that she’d fucking blame him.Jessica's not a piece of shit. She's still struggling to believe that.





	Only Care About What We Do

**Author's Note:**

> _"I don't care about what we did, only care about what we do."_  
>     
> -All Time Low

Jessica is fucking exhausted.

It’d taken all of Hogarth’s icy stare, as well as several cutting lines regarding the intelligence of the beat cops who’d shown up at the docks, to get her away from the scene. It was impressive, in a way. Kind of like a snake swallowing a live rabbit whole. The woman is still a dark, oozing sack of shit in an expensive suit, but Jess won’t deny that she’s good at her job.

She’d somehow managed to get a cab back to her apartment, and now she digs a hand through her pocket for her keys, looking down when she realizes her hand is shaking. Fuck. She would’ve liked to at least make it to bed before the shock set in.

Hell, maybe it’s _relief,_ but Jess has lived so long with this bullshit hanging over her head that she’s not entirely sure what that feels like anymore.

She finally manages to shove the key in the lock and twist the doorknob, stepping inside, and she leans heavily against the door for a minute after she kicks it shut.

He’ll never touch her again. She’ll never have to worry about coming home and finding Trish broken, bleeding and cut to ribbons with glass from her door, eyes glassy. Never have to worry about going over to check on Malcolm only to find that he’s OD’d. Kilgrave’s dead. Kilgrave is finally, _finally_ fucking dead, and now she can actually start to put the shattered pieces of her life back together.

She shudders out a sigh and pushes off the wall. Someone is moving around in the other room, and for a second she thinks someone broke in _—good luck finding anything worth taking before I throw you into a wall, asshole—_ and then she remembers.

Luke.

Shit.

She’s moving before she even registers it, all earlier exhaustion gone, and she heaves a massive sigh of relief _—and oh,_ that’s _what it feels like—_ when she sees him sitting up in her bed, talking quietly with Claire.

_He didn’t have another fucking seizure, he’s okay, he’s alright, I didn’t fucking kill him when I put that shotgun to his head._

Claire’s moved one of Jessica’s chairs from her office into the bedroom, but as soon as she sees Jess’ face, she’s up, taking Jess gently by the shoulders and guiding her to sit.

“Hey, woah. Easy, take it easy. He’s alright, I promise. C’mon, let me check you over, make sure nothing is too fucked up.”

Jess bites her lip, glances over at the man lying on her bed. “You-you’re sure—”

“I’m fine,” Luke assures her, and _God,_ he sounds much more concerned about her than he should. “Let her look at you.”

All that she’s done to him, and he still gives a shit about her. She’s shocked, sits numbly as Claire applies a butterfly bandage to a cut above her eye before packing up her supplies and telling them that she’ll be by to check on them tomorrow. That she left her number, that Jess can call anytime she needs to.

They blink at each other for about a minute after the door closes, because Jess is a _fucking idiot_ and she can’t think of what to say. Luke’s the one that speaks first.

“You okay?”

Jess snorts. “All the shit I did to you, and you’re asking if _I’m okay?_ You shouldn’t be—“ She shakes her head, rubs at the furrow between her eyebrows to massage her sudden headache away. “Kilgrave’s dead, if that’s what you mean.”

“There’s already early news coverage. That’s not what I’m askin’.”

Jess looks at him, at the empty space beside him. Silently asking if she can climb into her own bed. He may not want her anywhere near him, after everything that’s happened.

Not that she’d fucking blame him.

But Luke just pats the empty side of the bed in invitation. Jess shakes her head again as she moves to join him, pulls her boots off, mouth falling open a little in shock.

She doesn’t speak right away after she reclines herself next to him, just stares at the opposite wall. Luke waits a minute or so, and then:

“How can you fucking  _stand_ me?! After everything I did to you... Jesus, you should be fucking _bolting,_ Luke! Why _the hell_ are you still—"

She cuts herself off with a ragged, pained noise, fighting back a sob, and she sees Luke flinch. It’s almost imperceptible: a tightening at the eyes, his lips pressing together for a moment. But Jessica is damn good at being a P.I.

“I blew up my bar,” Luke says. His voice is gravelly, and every word is weighted, but that doesn’t surprise her. She swallows hard.

“I blew up my bar,” Luke continues, his eyes growing hard. “The bar that I built with Reva. That bar was our baby. And as soon as Kilgrave ordered me, _everything in me_ wanted to blow it up. The memories didn’t matter. The fact that I still kept pictures of her in the bathroom cabinet didn’t matter. I didn’t _get_ to be me after that, I didn’t _get_ to choose.” Luke takes a deep breath. “I never got to apologize to you.”

“You don’t have a damn thing to—” Jess starts, but Luke cuts her off.

“Yes, I do.” He shudders, reaches over–carefully, telegraphing his movements, giving her ample time to pull away–and sets a gentle hand on her leg. “I’ve got shit to apologize for. Because I didn’t listen, I didn’t _get_ it, what you’d been through. Couldn’t even start to wrap my head around it.”

He finally looks up at her, and there is an ocean of horror and pain in his eyes. “And then he had me. And he told me to blow up my bar. And he gave me the orders for— after.” His voice breaks. “I wanted to tell you to run. To get _away_. And I couldn’t.”

He shudders again, horror rippling through his massive form like an earthquake, harder this time, and a silent sob shakes her. She muffles it against his chest as she wraps her arms around him, swallows it down.

“It’s alright, you didn’t hurt me, you didn’t. You don’t have to do this to yourself. It wasn’t you, okay?” She pulls back a little to meet his eyes. “Look at me. _That was not you._ You are not what he tried to make you into.”

She holds him like that for a couple minutes, both of them shuddering with silent sobs, her cheek pressing into the top of his head. Eventually he manages to speak again, voice still raw.

“Neither are you.”

She takes a deep breath. “I don’t know if I can believe that yet.”

His chin moves against her shoulder as he nods. “Someday,” he offers. “I’m willin’ to stick it out till we do.” It’s not an ‘I love you’ and it’s not a proposal, but Luke says it like a promise, like a vow, and Jess inhales sharply, her grip tightening on him as she feels the world shift.

 _You are a hard-drinking, short-fused mess of a woman. But you are not a piece of shit,_ he’d said.

This man has seen her deepest scars, has seen the worst parts of her, and has decided to stay anyway. Maybe that means something. Maybe...

She won’t let that train of thought go any further.

She feels him yawn a minute later.

“You can stay here, if you want. Till you find a place—or just—for however long you need, alright? I’ll sleep in the office.“ She doesn’t technically have a couch anymore, thanks to Simpson’s temper tantrum, but hopefully he’ll be too exhausted to remember that. She’s sure he won’t want her _here._

Luke frowns. “On what? Your office looked pretty wrecked when I saw it.”

Well, shit.

“I have a chair.” Jessica shifts, releasing him and climbing off of the bed in one fluid motion.

“Or you could stay,” Luke says, catching her hands in his. “Look. Just...just stay here tonight. Alright?”

She swallows. “Sure?”

Luke nods. “I’m sure.”

She slowly settles back onto the bed beside him, shucking her jacket, and takes a shallow breath. The space and tension between them feels heavy, like each exhale is a disturbance.

Slowly, telegraphing his movements again, Luke wraps an arm around her and pulls her into his chest, and Jess leans into the embrace. He still smells like something vaguely woodsy, and his arm still fits perfectly into the curve of her waist, and she sighs a little. She feels _sheltered_. Which is pretty damn ironic, when you consider everything that went down over the past few days.

It takes a long time before the rhythm of his breathing lulls her to sleep. 

                                                                                                     ---

Luke glances at the woman pillowed on his chest, strokes a hand down her back as she twitches in her sleep. It’ll take a while for things to settle, for both of them to decompress, to figure out what their relationship is now. He’s well aware of that.

But maybe, just maybe—

_Maybe we’ve both lost enough that we can keep something for a change._

Luke strokes his free hand through Jessica’s hair, stares up at the ceiling, and lets himself hope.

**Author's Note:**

> A huge thank you to martial-quill, who stepped in to help with this one and showed us how to save time formatting.


End file.
